


The Freak Show

by Merixcil



Series: Tumblr Fics [87]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Flirting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28695492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: John heads to Arkham to gather information on Clayface's most recent breakout. It's no one's fault but his that he didn't listen when people told him that Joker's trouble.
Relationships: John Constantine & Joker (DCU), John Constantine/Joker (DCU)
Series: Tumblr Fics [87]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759627
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Freak Show

Arkham Asylum wants to be haunted so badly. John hauls himself over the perimeter wall sometime after midnight and has to bite back a laugh when he gets an eyeful of the mansion. Dark grey stone fashioned into turrets and gargoyles that outdate their intended function by a few hundred years, capped by a spire perfectly framed by the full moon. Mary Shelley herself couldn’t have deemed up anything quite so perfectly gothic.

But for all its architectural flair, the compound’s pretty quiet on the demon front. There’s a faint flutter of dark wings pulsating somewhere in the building but John needs only to brush against it to know it wasn’t born here. People who wind up in these institutions tend to bring a wide selection of their own demons in on their shirt tails. If he had something to trade for the privilege John would set up an invisibility ward or two before pushing on, but as things stand he’s strapped for talismans and the last time he dabbled in blood magic he bled half to death all over the kitchen floor of a very nice old faith healer down in Louisiana and he’s in no hurry to repeat the experience. So he’s borrowed Zatanna’s biggest coat for the evening and is trying to do the thing Batman does where he melts into the shadows as he crosses the grounds.

Arkham guards are just as incompetent as the regular breakouts would have you believe. Not that housing multiple supervillains in the same compound was anyone’s smartest plan. Magic may have next to no place here but the potential for it is palpable; ambition, passion and raw recklessness crackle through the air. If he were a shade more power hungry John could find plenty of willing pawns within these walls.

Sadly he still has a few moral scruples intact and he has smaller things to worry about than the incoming war. He hugs the walls of the penitentiary, escaping the less than keen eyes of the guards on the front door and slips in through a service entrance. From there it’s easy. John just has to follow his nose and make his way to the big black hole in the map that he can’t put a name to and doesn’t want to understand. Funny how no sooner than a person learns the true value of knowledge they find out they want very little to do with it.

“You awake?” John whispers as he comes to a halt at the end of a row of acetate cells. The last unit is built separate to the rest, and the dim glow of the after hours lighting may not be much to go on but he can still see the wire mesh layered between the plastic. It looks equal parts overkill and insecure. There’s no point trying to restrain the thing this cell contains, but if you’re going to make a go of it then several layers of reinforced steel would be a pretty good place to start.

“Oo err guv’ner! I be burnin’ the midnight oil for me trubles. Ent I?” The prisoner replies.

John doesn’t take the bait. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to my agent. My schedule is frightfully packed this month. I can’t go round accepting unsolicited interviews willy nilly.” When it’s not trying to do bad impressions of Dickensian paupers, the voice is enticing. A smooth tenor that scratches over hard consonants and roughens at the end of it’s sentences like it’s been worn down over a few decades of heavy smoking.

John straightens up. “Yeah, well I’m afraid the matter I’ve got to discuss with you is time sensitive. You talk to me today or we run out of time.”

“Not my problem.”

“I’ll trade five minutes of your time for a can of silly string.”

Something flies out of the dark and plasters itself to the front of the cell. Green eyes glow through the gloom and pale flesh draws tight against the clear plastic. The thing smiles and it looks like its cheeks should split, but it just keeps going, lips drawn back so far they meet the ears. So many people have suggested that The Joker is demonic over the years that John has completely desensitised himself to the idea. It’s easy to dismiss people when you’ve already decided they don’t know what they’re talking about, but seeing the clown in the flesh it’s clear where they’re coming from. For a moment, John forgets that he knows anything about astral planes and arcane magic, because the thing before him looks to be cut from the same cloth as all history’s greatest horror movie monsters combines. It’s in the proportions – everything two percent bigger of smaller than it should be. Joker looks like he stepped straight out of a cartoon.

“You shoulda opened with the whole ‘I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse’ pitch.” Joker giggles. “Silly string? Boy oh boy you know how to make a guy feel special you limey sonofabitch.”

John steps back so that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to meet Joker’s eye. The clown’s smile grows, if possible, all the wider and John gets the uncomfortable feeling that he’s just seen right through him.

Clearing his throat, John digs in his pocket for the notepad Batman had given him packed with questions needing answers. He opens first to a blank page and starts scribbling some basic protection wards in the margins. Not necessary. Just an extra precaution. “What do you know about Clayface’s recent activities?”

Joker makes a show of stroking his chin, casting his eyes skyward like he’s thinking very hard. “Dunno. Depends what you’re doodling in your schoolbooks. Gonna go out on a limb and say it’s not ‘Jonny loves Joker.’”

“Never mind what I’m doing, love. I’m here to talk about Clayface.”

“Love!” Joker gasps. “Why, mister big bad magician, that’s a little forward, don’tcha think?”

John snorts. “Not even slightly. If I was being forward, you’d know.”

“You wanna watch yourself there, darling. Two can play at that game. If you must know, I think Basil said something about doing a run as a juror before he left camp.”

Exactly what Batman said he would say. John risks a glance at Joker, still grinning his head off, and while he can’t remember what excuse the Dark Knight had given for not being able to come himself he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it had something to do with the way the clown vibrates with energy, every hair standing on end with the force of his excitement. It’s eerie, but it’s also infectious. John can feel himself starting to rock back on his heels despite himself, desperate to match pace and keep himself moving. “And when exactly did Clayface break out?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I know the guy’s got a talent for disguises. For all I know he’s been out and about for months.”

“Oh, old Basil can vanish into any role, he’s a real artist. The trouble is that no one can capture his range and they won’t let him back into pottery classes so he’s all out of options for leaving behind decoys.”

That makes sense. So much so that John’s a little disappointed Batman even thought the question needed answering. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to keep his attention focused on the notepad while Joker titters over his head. “Did he ask you to help him out?”

“Oh, Clayface doesn’t want shit to do with me. You know those theatre types, looking down their noses at those of us in the more exotic end of the entertainment business. Who’s gonna tell him that the circus is back in fashion?” Joker moves back from the acetate, far enough into the shadows that all that’s visible of him is the white of his face, the gaping cavern of his mouth and those shining green eyes. “Time’s nearly up.”

There’s nothing magic about the way Joker catches the light, it’s just good old fashioned human trickery and fantastic showmanship. The notepad grows hot in John’s hand for a split second while the wards confirm that the room is free of supernatural threats to his person. He wonders just how far Joker’s lips can stretch, if he’s ever found the limit.

“You know who else I should be talking to?”

“I know plenty of folks who know a thing or two.” Joker says. “But none who’d be willing to speak to the Bat’s new bumboy. Not everyone here’s as generous as me.” His tongue slips out to wet his lips and it’s an obvious hole but John still falls into it. Heaven save him from his desire to kick the hornet’s nest. John steps back from the glass and The Joker follows him, shadows converging around his cocked hip, his outrageously long legs, shoulders that have no business being so wide.

John fixes him with the coolest stare he can manage. “I’ll be going.”

Joker talks straight over him. “In my experience, guys like us will try anything once. I’ll be out of here in a few weeks. If you felt like taking a bite of any of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself. Skin and bone and an Arkham jumpsuit. There’s nothing there worth taking a bite out of. And yet…

Obvious manipulation has always been John’s one weakness. Trying to prove people wrong about how easy he is to lay across the ropes is the root cause of most of his problems and today isn’t going to be the day he starts making better choices.

John slips the notepad back into his pocket. “If you let me tie you down before we get started, I might take you up on the offer.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Joker snorts ad John turns to leave. “What’s the point of playing with fire if all you’ve got to burn is damp straw?”

Laughter sticks in John’s ears all the way back to the cliffs. He bundles himself up behind a rock while he waits for he Batwing to swing by and pick him up, trying to convince himself that he hasn’t committed to anything. It’s a hard argument to make when he owes Joker a can of silly string.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> This was originally posted on my [tumblr](https://jeffersonhairpie.tumblr.com/). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rixywrites).


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